These Hands
by Kay the Cricketed
Summary: In which Edward makes a surprising discovery and Roy does paperwork with flair. "But you're right handed, I read it in your file!"


_These Hands_

By Kay

Disclaimer: I don't own FMA, but not by choice. If I had it my way, FMA would involve more things blowing up. One can never have too many things blowing up.

Author's Notes: Just a pointless little ficlet about Roy's supposed talents. laughs Fairly general, not too fluffy or angsty… actually, it's just an idea I like and so it was written. It seems like the smart thing to do. Well, enjoy!

* * *

It took almost three years before Edward finally realized it—- but then again, Roy Mustang later decided, the boy was remarkably unobservant for being such a brilliant alchemist. This was nothing surprising.

To be honest, he should have expected it. It was only a matter of time before Edward's sharp golden eye, even when glaring at the wall away from him in a haze of anger, would at last notice this one, strange detail that had slipped through his attention so many times before. Yet it still gave Roy pause when it actually did happen, on that summer day with the windows opened to let the warmth billow in through the blinds, sitting as his desk and idly scratching at paperwork while the FullMetal Alchemist ranted and raved, arms whipping through the air in outrage, about his latest mission.

He'd made it a game-- or, at least a form of it-- of listening intently to Edward's fury-edged grumbling and looking as if he was completely ignoring it. Even now, much to the small alchemist's displeasure, he was lazily doing signatures on forms, the rough tip of his pen dragging audibly in the office empty except for them. Every time he flipped a paper over, he thought he saw Edward's forehead wrinkles twitch.

In fact, he had so immersed himself into the game that it nearly startled him when Edward suddenly stopped dead in mid-complaint.

He glanced up, eyebrow raised. Edward was sitting on the sofa, mouth still gaping open as if ready to continue speaking, a strange look in his narrowed eyes-- as if he couldn't possibly believe what he was seeing. For a moment, Roy wondered if he'd suddenly pieced something together from the mission beforehand, or if he was struck with a sudden theory that would aid Alphonse and himself on their impossible quest. Then Edward let out a howl of indignation and those ideas vanished.

"You're writing with your _left_ hand!" the blonde screeched, his pointed finger waving erratically through the air. His eyes were bugging out.

Roy paused. He blinked down at the gloved hand still holding the pen, running it through his mind, before he finally realized what Edward was talking about. He smirked inwardly. Outwardly, he calmly scribbled out another signature over the paper with an envious grace and flourish.

"Yes, pleased to see you've noticed," he said agreeably.

"But, but…" Words seemed to fail Edward. He stared, lost. "But you're _right_ handed. I read it in your file!"

Roy raised another eyebrow. He considered lecturing Edward on the bad habit of sneaking into files that he shouldn't have access to, but decided against it. This was just too amusing at the moment. "Yes, I am right handed. Though even Hughes has his doubts sometimes about whether that's true."

"It's," and Edward floundered again, his brow drawing together in confusion. His hand fell to his side. "Why your left then?" he asked, true curiosity floating upwards through his voice, needing to know for no other reason except his own wonder.

"I trained myself extensively in the use of both hands," Roy said after a short pause. He wrote his name again, this time paying careful attention to the short, curt lines of his name. He remembered vaguely how simple it seemed when he was first learning as a child-- only three letters, his mother had murmured into the soft black of his hair, and he had laughed. Now he wrote them on forms that often stood for important issues in the world; only he missed the breath that misted over his ear. Shrugging the oddly uncomfortable memory away, he added quickly, "It was vital to my training if I wanted to succeed. I did it, and can now use both indiscriminately at my own will for whatever task, including writing. They are of equal strength, as well." And how long that had taken to perfect, he wasn't about to tell Edward.

The younger alchemist was listening for once, lips pursed thoughtfully. He studied the ease with which Roy signed another paper, flipped it over with his right hand, and went right back to writing. "You used both hands in our fight, too."

_That_ memory stills his hands. Roy stares blankly down at his desk, barely seeing it at all. How long ago it seemed. How oddly relaxed he felt when he remembered it. Edward was not so much a child anymore, but it was always a little hard to remind himself of that.

Everyone looked small when they were crouched beneath his snapping fingers.

"It's all about time," Roy said slowly, absentmindedly placing his pen to his side and letting his gloved hands fall to the desk surface. He studied them, lost in thought. "Surely I could snap my fingers and most threats would be gone. But what if my right hand was incapacitated? Or, as you had accomplished, rid of its glove? Even worse, what if it wasn't there at all anymore? There are no certainties when you go to war, FullMetal, I assure you."

At these deadened words, Edward swallowed.

As if sensing his rising unease, Roy shook his head resolutely to rid himself of the memories. Forcing a small smirk in Edward's direction, he added, "Naturally, I rarely find myself in these positions, thanks to my superior defense."

That earned him a snort and a scathing look.

Having overcome the quick flash of melancholy, Roy returned to signing papers with his left hand. Then, just to mock him, he switched the pen to his right deftly and continued. Edward made another sound, but it was less scornful and more amused. "Whatever. I bet you used your left hand so much that it's no wonder you've become dexterous."

Roy arched a brow, but said nothing. It was the truth, though not nearly in the way Edward believed.

They moved back again to the regular pattern-- Edward's loud voice ranting, Roy's low taunts, and the sunlight drifting through the blinds. When the boy had finally left and the office was empty, however, Roy slowly put down the pen and held his gloved hands near his face. They looked exactly the same. They acted exactly the same. He flexed his fingers, and even the feel of it was entirely the same.

They'd both done their share of writing. Of grasping handles. Of clapping Maes on the shoulder. Of snapping.

Of killing, he told himself quietly.

It really was a pity, though, he thought again, picking up the pen once more and writing his name with a flourish that wasn't entirely necessary. He would have liked it, really, if he'd never thought to train both hands. He could have survived on his right hand, maybe. Things would have been more difficult then, but perhaps different.

It would have been nice to have one hand clean of blood, that was all. Against the summer breeze, Roy Mustang closed his eyes and tried to imagine fingers that didn't hold the fire of the sun in their grasp. The image wouldn't come.

_End_


End file.
